


Good Things

by Jaxon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Domestic Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts, Sexual Bullying, Teenage Pregnancy, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxon/pseuds/Jaxon
Summary: Severus loves potions, so when he spies Eileen creating an unknown brew in their kitchen, he can't stop himself from scooping some into a jar.But back at Hogwarts, his world is turned upside down when the jar is stolen and the contents are used against an unwilling victim...





	1. Potion

**Author's Note:**

> From a Tumblr prompt. This fic contains bullying, sort of sexual bullying, bad language, and a bucket of angst. Sorry.

“How many times have you been told?” Eileen snapped, waving her son away from the open cauldron in the tiny kitchen.  “Keep your nose out.”

“I’m only lookin’,” he whined, tucking his greasy hair behind his ears and peering over the pot once more.  He sniffed. “Smells like viper venom.”

“And what else?”

“Grass,” he said, hesitantly.  He paused and sniffed again.  “Rhubarb?” He screwed his face up.  “I dunno, it’s sorta citrus.  Not lemon.  Weird…a bit like, raspberry and lime and…”  He inhaled deeply.  “It’s blood orange!”

“Very good.”  Eileen wiped her hands on her apron and shooed him away.  “Now get on with you!”

“Who’s it for?  What’s it do?”

“Minnie Jones,” his mother said.  “And none of your beeswax, lad.”

“She’s gettin’ married.”

“Yes.”

Severus paused by the kitchen door.  “Is it a wedding present?”  His face twisted into a leer.  “Is it for her or for him?”

“Enough!”

He gave a soft laugh. “I’m fifteen, Mam.  You can tell us!”

“Out!”

* * *

Later that night, he padded down the stairs and peered into the cooling cauldron.  His mother had added something else late in the process, because the liquid had solidified and turned canary yellow.  He prodded the potion tentatively with a clean glass rod, and watched in fascination as the jellied concoction moved as one around the pot.

He peered at the cauldron and then grabbed a jar from under the sink.  His mother wouldn’t miss a jar full.  He carefully ladled some of the mixture from the cauldron, and tightened the top, before secreting the jar in his schoolbag which lay discarded in the hall. It wouldn’t do for his mother to find such a thing in his bedroom.

He still didn’t know what it did, but a newlywed potion could only be fun.

* * *

He was cornered, four-on-one, by the library.  He’d reacted swiftly, but not swiftly enough – and now he found himself at the wrong end of Sirius Black’s wand, his wrists pinned to the wall behind him.

“What’ve you got in here?” Potter said, rooting through his bag.  “Shabby book, shabby book, another shabby book.”  He threw one at Peter, and laughed as several pages fell out. “Whoops.  Looks like you need a new Transfiguration textbook, Sniv.”

“Git,” Severus spat, and Sirius flicked his wand, causing an invisible hand to slap Severus’ cheek.  “Ow!  Fuck off, Black!”

“Such language,” Potter mocked delving deeper into his bag.  “And what are these?”  He held up three jars of potions – one glittering, one blue and one a canary yellow. “Oi!  I’m talking to you.  These unlabelled potions.  What are they?”

“Don’t trust him, James,” Remus said, quickly.

Severus sneered. “Yes, don’t trust me.  One will bring eternal wealth, one eternal glory, and one eternal impotency…  Choose wisely, Potter.”

Despite himself, Sirius snorted.  “All yours, James.  I don’t fancy my chances.”

“Eternal impotency,” James scoffed.  “If one of these brought eternal wealth, Snivellus wouldn’t be so scruffy.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Yeah, our house-elves have smarter tea-towels than you do clothes, Sniv.”

James picked up the potions one by one, examining them in the light, glancing at Severus as he did so. “So which are you fearful of, Snivvy?” He paused, and a slow smile spread across his face.  “I’ll be keeping these two,” he said, pocketing the shining potion, and the blue potion.  “You looked rather more cautious at this one.”  He waved the yellow one before his face.

“So the yellow one it is,” Sirius laughed.  “Open wide.”

“You don’t drink it,” Severus said, quickly.  “It’s a cream.”

“A cream?”  James’ eyes narrowed.  “A cream for where?”

Severus didn’t respond, so Sirius flicked his wand, causing his robes to fall.  “Fuck OFF, Black!”

“Peter,” James said, beckoning the smallest boy towards him.  “Put this on him.  Your choice where.”

“Don’t,” Severus said, battling against Sirius’ invisible bonds that were holding him to the wall. “Don’t, please don’t, I don’t know what it does.”

“Why are you making potions if you don’t know the consequences of them?” James wondered, quietly. “It’s dark, isn’t it?”

“No, no, I don’t know!”

“If you were going to use it on someone else,” Sirius said, beckoning Peter over, “and it’s dark, that’s hardly fair.”

“I wasn’t goi-”

“Shhh,” Sirius said, flicking his wand, effectively gagging Severus.

“I don’t want to touch it if he doesn’t know what it does,” Peter whined, staring at the contents of the jar distastefully.  “And definitely not if it’s dark!”

“Bloody hell, are you thick or what?  Use your wand.”  James caught Sirius’ eye and shook his head.  “Honestly.”

Severus took in a deep breath as the cold mixture made contact with his skin.  Peter’s wand movements were hesitant, and he recoiled as the thick paste slid up and down his thin chest.

“Hurry up,” Remus hissed. “There’s someone coming.”

“Yeah, and if that potion does as he says, it isn’t Sniv,” laughed Sirius as he thrust the empty jar and Severus’ robes into the boy’s arms.  Severus felt the corners of his eyes prickling with hot tears as he collected his torn belongings and stuffed them into his bag.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Remus said, disapprovingly as they hurried down the corridor.

“I’ve done him a favour,” James said, his smile wide.  “We all know after he’s been talking to Evans he has to go and hide in his bedroom for an hour.”  

“Yeah,” laughed Sirius. “A bit of impotency should help his non-existent social life.”

* * *

Severus ran to the nearest bathroom, and once he was certain he was alone, he threw his belongings into the corner. He plucked a freshly laundered towel from the cupboard and headed to a basin.  He winced as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror – his cheek was marked where Sirius had slapped him, and his eyes were red, despite his best efforts not to cry.

He tore his robes off, and glanced down at his skinny chest, sighing at the uneven mixture that Peter had spread across his alabaster skin.  The lurid yellow had faded to lilac, and as he swiped a tentative finger over his collarbone, he grimaced at the slimy texture.  With his other hand, he set the tap running and when the water had warmed, he thrust his coated finger beneath the stream.

To his relief, the cream washed off with ease.  He turned the tap off, and with the mixture still covering his chest, he leant back against the basin and waited.  He didn’t want the cream seeping into his skin longer than necessary, but similarly, he knew only too well that some potions reacted with water.  He wasn’t overly happy to be covered in the newlywed potion that his mother had brewed, but at least he was fairly confident it was safe in its natural form.  She wouldn’t give something evil to the neighbours.  Least, not that nice Minnie Jones.

He waited, and after ten minutes, he saw that his finger had received no adverse effects.  He ducked into one of the showers to rinse the rest of the potion off his body.  He stood under the hot spray for longer than was necessary, wondering idly what the intended effect might have been.  When he was certain no potion was left, he stepped out of his pants and washed the rest of his body.

Even though Peter hadn’t put his hands on him, he felt strangely dirty.  Thankfully, the potion hadn’t made contact with his genitals – and as far as he could tell, he hadn’t reacted in any way.  He’d half feared walking around for the rest of the week with a raging erection.  He dried off, dressed, and returned to his dormitory, wondering why his mother would gift an inert potion as a wedding present.  Maybe it was for women after all.

* * *

“Ten minutes,” she called loudly, even though he was the only student in the library.

He ran his finger along the shelf trying to visualise the spine of his mother’s old potions book. Not the NEWT textbook he had claimed and defiled, but his great-grandfather’s favoured tome. Eileen’s copy had loose leaves, whereas Pince’s were pristine, but that just made his task of spotting the right book even harder.

With minutes to spare, he found it and took it to the circulation desk.  Pince eyed the book, and then Severus, with suspicion.  “And what, precisely, young man,” she said, her eyes narrowed, “are you planning to do with this?”

“Research, miss,” he responded, quickly.

“If I hear from Professor Slughorn that you’ve been brewing banned potions from my books again-”

“You won’t, miss, sorry, miss,” he said, desperate for her to check the book out to him.

“Or from Madam Pomfrey that you’re back in the hospital wing because you’ve exploded a cauldron in the fifth floor bathroom-”

“That was an accident!” he retorted hotly, and then regretted it as Pince clutched the book even tighter.  “Sorry, miss. Of course not, miss.”

“It’s due back in a week.”

He frowned, surprised it was being given on short loan instead of a full loan, but seeing Pince’s expression he quickly slid it into his bag and raced from the library.  As he pelted down the corridor, he was sure that he saw the rat-like features of Pettigrew sniffing around in a nearby classroom, but Severus was lithe, and fast, and he sprinted down to the dungeons with ease.

* * *

“What are you doing?”

“Reading,” he called to Avery through the drawn curtains of his four poster.

“Actually reading?” Mulciber yelled back, “or, y’know.   _Reading_.”

Snape swiped one of the curtains back and waved the book at his dorm mate.  “Actually reading.”

“He’s always actually reading,” Avery lazily observed, magically swiping Snape’s curtain back. “C’mon, Mulc – I want to show you what I found down the bottom corridor.”

“Don’t want you want to stay with Snape for a bit?  We could all do some reading?”

Severus’ couldn’t hear Avery’s response, but then he thought he heard footsteps leaving the room.  He shook his head - he’d never known Mulciber pick up a book before.  Frankly, the pair of dunderheads he roomed with got weirder as the weeks went by.

He sighed, and focused on his library book.  He scoured the index, and then the contents, and then he saw it – “Potions of the heart.” He flipped to the middle section, and flicked curiously through the potions to make another’s heart race, or to cause a temporary burst of affection.  The last page had the most likely potion on – but its description was vague, talking about contentment and desire.

He ran his finger down the list of ingredients; it had to be the right one – venom, grass, rhubarb, blood orange – hardly common ingredients.  Not that the lack of description really mattered, as his mother had added something else – something extra.  The potion in the book was grey, not lurid yellow.  He sank back on his pillows, the book resting on his face.  If he didn’t find the answer soon, he was going to have to put quill to parchment and confess.

* * *

He watched as the class filtered through the door.  As always, the Marauders had grouped around his desk at the end of the lesson, and he hadn’t liked the look in their eyes.  If he hadn’t been intending to speak to Slughorn, he’d have invented a reason to stay – their constant following of him had ratcheted up in the past few days, and he felt near breaking point.  They’d obviously recruited more to their cause, as it seemed that each time he turned a corner, there was a boy looking him up and down in a predatory way.

“Sir?”

“Ah, young Severus. Find today’s work a little tricky?”

“No, sir.”

Slughorn raised his eyebrow. “The essay I’ve set?”

“No, sir.”

“Then out with it, boy. What do you want from me?”

“…if a potion was grey, sir, and you wanted to turn it yellow-”

To his surprise, Slughorn gave a hearty laugh.  “Really, Severus?  This isn’t like you.”

“Sir?”

Slughorn tapped his lips with his quill.  “We both know that colour changes are not as simple as one ingredi-”

“And it went from runny to thick.”

“…runny…to…thick?”

“Sorry, sir.  Liquid to viscous.  Sir.”

“Better.”  Slughorn frowned and pulled a book from the bookcase behind him.  “What exactly are you trying to achieve?”

“It’s a potion I’m trying to reverse engineer,” Severus said.  

“Reverse engineer?”

“Sorry sir, I think that’s a Muggle term, sir.   It mean-”

“I know fully well what it means,” Slughorn harrumphed.  “Where is it then, boy?  This potion?”

“I don’t have it anymore.”

Slughorn did his best not to roll his eyes.  “Then perhaps you should forget the endeavour, eh?  Stick to reverse engineering potions you have in your possession.”

“Yes, sir.”  Severus turned back to his desk and swept his papers into his bag.  He picked up that day’s potion and put it on the desk to be marked.  “Sir?”

“What now, Severus?”

“What do you get if you mix venom and grass and rhubarb and citrus, and then turn it yellow?”

Slughorn pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Severus…”

“Sir?”

“Why are you making potions for newlyweds?”

“Is that what it is, sir?” Severus asked, excitedly.  “I thought it might be, but what does it mean when it’s yellow and not grey?”

Slughorn placed his hands on the desk and leant forward with a hint of menace that Snape had never seen before.  “If I find you’re passing newlywed potions out in Slytherin house-”

“I’m not, sir!” Severus grimaced, trying to decide whether to confide in his housemaster.  “Sir…”  He dropped his gaze to the floor.  “I think someone used it on me, sir.”

“Used it on you?”

“As a joke.”

“As a joke?”  Slughorn exhaled.  “Who was it?  This wasn’t another Quidditch related beasting, was it?  I’ll be speaking to Evan Rosier tonight!”

“No…not a Slytherin, sir.” Severus’ cheeks burned bright.  “It’s nothing to worry about though, is it, sir?”

Slughorn sat back heavily in his chair and paused, hesitating over his words.  “No.  You should be fine.  It has to be applied onto bare skin for it take effect.”

“…it was.  Sir.”

“To Pomfrey,” Slughorn said, grabbing the slender boy by the arm and pushing him from the classroom. “To Pomfrey, now!”  

* * *

He glared at her from under thick lashes.  “You could just tell me,” he muttered, “and I’ll brew it myself.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Pomfrey said, plumping the pillow behind his head.  “Now lie back and be quiet.”

“But-”

“Five days, Severus!” Pomfrey looked angry as she performed a cleansing spell on her hands.  “Five days, and anything could’ve happened.”

“It didn’t react with water, so I washed it off.  It seemed ok.”

She pressed her cool hand to his forehead.  “You’re not burning up at least.”  She eyed him critically.  “Now, where did he apply it?”

He couldn’t stop himself from blushing scarlet.

“Severus?”  Her voice was softer, gentler.  “Whatever you tell me won’t leave this room.”

“Nothing like that,” he said, flushing even harder.  “My chest. Just my chest.”

“Nowhere else?”

He shook his head vigorously.

Gently, she unbuttoned the hospital gown he was wearing and peered at him.  Severus fought the urge to bring his arms up self-consciously.

“Ok, good,” she said, after a long moment.  She indicated that he could draw his gown back together.  “Three potions, I think.”  She flicked her wand, and the bottles flew over to his side table.  “A glass of each, and then a sleeping draught.” She sighed heavily as she poured the first measure.  “You shouldn’t suffer these things alone, Severus.”

“The Headmast-”

“The Headmaster is not always right,” she sniffed.  “And I am quite aware of what happened that night, even if I know you cannot talk about it.”  She passed him the glass.  “Drink.”

He obediently swallowed, and passed the glass back to her for the next potion.  She scourgified it and poured the next measure.

“Which of them was it?”

“Does it matter?”

She passed him the glass. “It may have a bearing.”

He slugged the potion back before answering.  “…it was done with a wand,” he said, softly.  “Not one person.  They were holding me, and one was looking out, an-”

“If it was done with a wand, then I suppose it matters not.”  She brushed her hand across his hair.  “Now sleep.”

* * *

“McGonagall wants to see you,” Avery said, dropping his bag in the common room.

“What now?”

Avery shrugged. “Didn’t say.  Late essay?”

“No.  I did it last week,” Severus grumbled, tying his shoelace and stowing his wand in his waistband. 

“Want me to walk with you?”

Severus pulled a face.  “Not particularly.  Why are you being so fucking weird just recently?”  He scowled at the teenager and stalked out of the common room.

He made the long walk up to McGonagall’s study, one eye watching for the Marauders, who had been following him around incessantly.  He’d practically exhausted all of his hiding places in the castle.  When he reached her door, he rapped hard on the wood.

“Enter!”

He pushed the door open, surprised to see the stern teacher standing by the window.

“Ah, young master Snape.”

“Miss.  You wanted to see me?”

“I wanted to congratulate you on your last essay,” she said, brandishing the piece of parchment.

His eyes widened.  He couldn’t remember ever receiving a commendation in Transfiguration; it was one of his weaker subjects.  He looked at the red ink adorning the top of the page, and saw the O emblazoned.  “Thank you.”

“I’ve gone back through your past papers,” McGonagall said, settling herself behind her desk and indicating that he should sit down.  “I fear I have been marking you far too harshly, Severus.”

“Miss?”

She silently passed him a bundle of pages and he rifled through them as she spoke.  “I realise that your heart does perhaps not lie with Transfiguration…”  He didn’t trust himself to answer, and she gave a slight smile.  “I thought so.  But I cannot explain…”  

“It’s ok, miss,” he said, filling the silence.  “I’ve lost count of things I can’t explain just lately.”

* * *

“Are you all right?” Peter asked, his voice soft as he sat down in the Great Hall.

“I failed,” Sirius said, staring in disbelief at the paper.  “I’m a bloody animagus, and I’ve failed!”

“Shush!” Remus hissed, looking up from his own paper.  “Say it a little louder for the Slytherins in the back who didn’t hear!”

“Sorry,” Sirius said, sounding unapologetic.  “It’s all right for you-”

“Oh yes?” Remus scowled, throwing his Transfiguration essay to Sirius.  “Troll.”

“Peter?”

“Troll for me too.”

“Have you seen James?”

“He’s gone off to practice for the Slytherin match,” Peter said, quietly.  “He was angry though.  I think that was his first Troll.”

* * *

“Ev…”

“I’ve told you, you’re the best man for the job.”

“How can I be the best man for the job when I hate flying?” Severus snapped, pulling on the Quidditch uniform.

“You don’t hate flying,” Mulciber chipped in.  “You hate falling off.”

“I don’t fall off!”

Avery laughed loudly. “You did last match.”

“And the match before.”

“We’ll catch you though.”

“Are you serious?”  Severus looked perturbed as he grabbed his broom.  “You can leave me to fall, thanks.”

* * *

“Brilliant!” shouted Malfoy, lifting Severus in the air.  

“Malf!  Did you see?  Were you watching?”

“Of course I was watching!  You were bloody brilliant, you little star!” he cheered, swinging him around.  “How are you?”

“I’m great.  Now you’re here, anyway!  …why are you here?”

“Slug Club,” Lucius said, by means of explanation.  “You’re on the list tonight.”

“Me?!”

“Sure, you,” Lucius said, ruffling his hair.  “After that display this afternoon, Sluggy can hardly look past you.”  He paused and looked at Severus quizzically.  “Have you done something to your hair?”

“No.”

“It’s kind of…fluffy?”

“Have you gone funny, Malf?” Severus said, a frown crossing his face, and pushing the older man out of the changing room.  “I’m going for a shower.”

“And then Slytherin house will celebrate!” Malfoy cheered through the door.

* * *

“Are you kidding me?” James howled, banging his fist against the bench.  “How could he have thwarted me?  He can’t even fly!”

“He did and he can.”

“Thanks, Sirius!”

“You think I’m pleased about this?” Sirius shouted back.  “It was my little brother that caught the snitch!  That’s the Quidditch cup gone, and probably the House Cup with it!”

“He only caught it because Snape flew in front of James and blocked him,” Peter muttered.

“Yes!  Well done, Captain Obvious!”  James yelled.  “Thanks for pointing that out, because we’d all not noticed!”  

* * *

He watched, cautiously, as he put his Charms homework on Flitwick’s desk.  In previous weeks, his homework always mysteriously disappeared, and he was sick of sitting in detention with the diminutive teacher.

But this time, Flitwick picked it up and smiled.  “Thank you, Severus!”

* * *

“He got top,” Sirius muttered.

“Yes.  Lily’s not happy.”

“She’s always been top.”

Remus frowned.  “Can’t Snape be top for once?”

“If not Lily, it should be me,” James grumbled.  “Or Sirius.”

“Thank you,” said Sirius. “Not Snape.  He’s crap at Charms.”

Remus looked down. “He sits across from me.  He’s not bad, actually.”

“Remus!”

“What, Peter?”  Remus scowled.  “Do you want me to lie?”  He looked at Sirius and then James.  “It’s funny, actually, because he’s always been pretty good in class, but his grade is terrible.  And he’s always in detention with Flitwick for not handing in his homework.”

Sirius crossed his legs. “Oh yes?”

“Yes, funny, isn’t it? Because I always see him hand it in.”

“What are you suggesting?” James said, his voice soft.

“Nothing,” Remus said, standing up.  “I’m just saying.”

* * *

It had been a weird week. Too weird.  He put quill to parchment.

_What was it?_

He didn’t write anything else.  He didn’t need to.  She barely used magic, but he knew she had talent – he was certain she could’ve given Lily Evans a run for her money in the fancy charms department when she was a teenager.  Sure enough, the response was so swift, he almost felt that she’d been waiting for his letter.

_It enhances fertility. Eligible men will be compelled to impregnate the bearer._

He groaned, and held his head in his hands, not daring to read on.  It was so much worse than he’d imagined.  He cast a quick spell around himself, and then screamed into his pillow, safe in the knowledge that no-one would hear his yells and attempt to console him.  “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!”   He picked his wand up, and with an unsteady hand, he wrote:

_Eligible men?  All men?  I thought this was a marriage potion?_

He looked back at the paper, where more words suddenly appeared. 

_It is.  She can spurn the advances of any man she is not interested in, as long as he wasn’t the one to apply the potion. The modified version that I created won’t wear off until a pregnancy occurs but ensures that goodwill flows from the person who applies the cream, making the woman happier and more amenable to bearing his child._

He stared in dismay at his mother’s words.  He groaned loudly, almost too distraught to write back.  

_What if someone applies it with a wand?  What if more than one person was there?_

The wait was agonising.

_What have you been doing with the potion I told you not to touch?_

Nobody else would’ve known, but Severus could hear the heartbreak in his mother’s written word. He’d cop it for sure when he got home.  She couldn’t keep this to herself; she wore her heart on her sleeve did Eileen Snape, and Tobias would wheedle it out of her one night, helped along by a glass or two of stout, and a caress to her cheek.

He’d seen it all before.

_A group?  …have you forced that Muggleborn, Severus?_

He stared at the page for a long time, before he pressed his wand against it, his tight script appearing at the end of his wand.

_No_.   _Of course not!  I’d never do that!_

He thought long and hard, and then he pressed his wand to the page again.  

_…it’s me.  They used it against me.  A group of boys._

And then the rest of the page bloomed into view.  He watched as the words flowed onto the page, and he pressed his head against the parchment – he’d never felt closer to his mother than this moment when she was penning the words as he read them.  He pulled the page away from his wet eyes and read.

_My boy.  My poor boy.  Keep away from them.  They won’t be able to help themselves._

He trembled as he picked his wand back up.

_They follow me.  Like they’ve caught a scent.  And Malfoy was weird with me the other night.  And Avery.  And Mulciber.  They’re all being weird.  How do I stop them?_

There was a long pause.

_You can repel the potion_.

His heart was banging in his chest.  

_How?  HOW?  Pomfrey gave me some stuff.  I told Slughorn.  Sort of.  And he took me to Pomfrey last week and she gave me three potions._

The pause was even longer, and then his mother’s words came hesitantly.

_Have you been having an easier time ever since?_

How did she know?

_Yes._

This time, the words came thick and fast.

_Go back to Pomfrey for a second dose.  Right now.  She’s given you potions to reverse the original, but the modified version won’t abate.  All that’s happened is the goodwill element has transferred to you, and you’re benefiting from their luck. They will have been having a torrid time, whilst you profit from their usual fortune.  When this wears off, their efforts will double – and they’ll be angry and frustrated. The potion is powerful enough on one man, let alone a group of teenagers that you’ve been thwarting all week._

Hot tears escaped from his eyes, splashing the parchment.

_I’m scared._

The words came even faster.

_Get a clean sheet of parchment and I will transfer the instructions for the neutralising paste.  Go straight to Pomfrey with it.  Play sick and don’t go alone.  Take a couple of those Slytherins with you.  Ones they’ll be wary of with a good name – Black, or Rosier, or even Avery at a push._

_Thanks Mam._

_And next time, don’t be so bloody inquisitive._

_Sorry Mam._

He stuffed the parchment in his pocket and with Black, Rosier and Avery in tow – he wasn’t taking any chances – he headed up to the hospital wing.  He missed his mother’s final furious message, but Pomfrey saw it appear on the parchment, and her chest tightened as she scanned the pages he’d thrust into her hands.

After the Slytherin boys had trooped out of the hospital wing, and Slughorn had retired to brew the required paste, Pomfrey cast a series of complicated runes on the door.

”What are you doing?”

”Protecting you,” she said, simply, standing over his bed.  “I’ve advised Professor Dumbledore that any ill boys should be redirected to his office for the evening.“

“When will it wear off?  When can I go back to lessons?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Tomorrow,” Pomfrey said, settling on the edge of his bed.  “The paste will work overnight, but I think I shall keep you here until the end of the week.  …to make sure.”

“Thanks.”  He scratched his arm self-consciously.  “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know,” she said, standing and pulling the blankets around him.  “You should rest whilst we wait for Professor Slughorn.”

“Madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes, Severus?”

“Did my mam say anything else?”  He pointed at the parchment.  “In the letter?”

Pomfrey decisively shook her head.  “No, Severus,” she said, folding the parchment, and putting it in her desk.  “Nothing else.”


	2. Parchment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape, is having a difficult term. He's drafted in to assist Poppy Pomfrey when two of his young snakes find themselves in a difficult position.
> 
> All clouds have a silver lining, as his actions lead him to peruse one of Poppy's ancient tomes - but he finds much more than he bargained for.

Poppy’s chair creaked in protest when he tipped it back, causing it to support his weight on two wooden legs instead of four.  He swung his long legs up onto her messy desk, crossing them at his ankles, and started to flick through yesterday’s Daily Prophet.  He read in silence before Poppy eventually returned.

“Comfortable?”

He gave a laconic grin, and raised the newspaper in acknowledgement.  “Quite, thank you.  And our patient?”

Poppy shut the door behind her, and thrust her hands into the sink in the far corner of her office. “I’ve given her the two potions you brewed, but I fear that a third might be in order.”  She wiped her hands on a conjured cloth which she then instantly banished.

“A third?  Whatever for?”

She bustled over to her overflowing bookcase, which was in such disarray, Severus could barely stand to look at it – Melvil Dewey was apparently a figure lost on Poppy.  For once, he kept his scorn to himself, and she surfaced with a book only moments later – it seemed that she alone understood her filing system – thrusting it into his hands.  “Page 678.”

He flicked to the correct chapter, and read.  A look of derision crossed his face.  “Really? For this to be appropriate, the girl would have to be with chil-”  He broke off as he saw Poppy’s solemn look.  “Poppy…”

“Don’t judge, Severus.”

“Poppy, she’s 14.”  In a swift movement, the chair returned to its ordinary four-legged stance, and Severus was upright.  He slat the newspaper onto the desk.  “Who?”

“Severus-”

“She must know who!” he bellowed, simultaneously casting a muffling charm against the door so the schoolgirl wouldn’t hear.  “This doesn’t happen by accident!”

“On the contrary, Severus,” Poppy said, soothingly, “that’s precisely how this happens.”

“You know very well what I mean,” he snapped.  “Was he one of mine?”

She gave a short nod.

“Who?”

“Are you asking who, or are you asking if she was consenting?”

He looked furious. “She can’t consent, we both know that. She is not of age.”

Poppy looked at him inquiringly.  “Severus, do not pretend you were not already aware of the activities between the members of the upper house.  It is, of course, not so long since you were amongst them yourself.”

“There is a difference between the upper house…” he paused, a deep crimson covering his cheeks, “…experimenting, and my youngest snakes being taken advantage of.”  He drew a deep breath.  “If she requires this potion then, of course I shall brew it, but…”

“But?”

“…tell me, is he also 14? Or was he older?  16?  17?  …18?”

Poppy stared at him for a long moment, her expression uneasy.  Severus’ fury didn’t abate, and eventually, she relented.  “I do not wish to break a confidence…”

“I require his name.”

“He is a fourth year. 15.  And he did not force her.”

Severus exhaled deeply. “Who?  I wish to speak with him.”  He turned the book over in his hands.  “And I shall speak to the older students about respectful behaviour, and how the lower years follow their lead-“

“-they are teenagers, Severus.  Do not be too harsh.”

“It is my house,” he said, coldly.  “I shall be as harsh as I see fit.”  He busied himself pushing her desk chair back into its rightful place, refusing to look her in the eye.  “If required, I will brew an abortifacient.”

She placed a warm hand in the crook of his elbow.  “Remember, Severus, it was not so long ago that you were young yourself.”

He stiffened slightly, but did not pull away.  “I was not irresponsible.  I would never have got a girl pregnant when I was 15, Poppy.”

She gave him a slight smile. “Brewing an effective contraceptive, and not having sex at all are two entirely different things.”

“14…it’s too young.”

“I know that, and you know that – but when you’re young and full of hormones…”

“It’s no excuse.”

She squeezed his arm. “If you impose sanctions on the house – if you stop them from seeing one another, stop them from experimenti-”

“And so I should!”

“-they will blame _her_.”  She gave him a stern look.  “Not him.”

* * *

With Poppy’s words ringing in his ears, he decided against sanctioning the older students, and instead instructed the house that all third, fourth and fifth years were to arrange an appointment with him for a one-to-one conversation around the issues of consent, coercion and contraception.

To his surprise, Michael Causfeld was amongst the first to attend, and away from his peers, broke down before Severus had chance to speak.  Severus had intended to use Legilimency to discover the perpetrator, but it soon became apparent that such measures were unnecessary – indeed, his carefully planned speech was not only redundant, but it transpired the terrified young man required reassurance, not condemnation.

And how could he condemn either teenager when Poppy was right?  Severus certainly hadn’t been immune to the swathe of hormones that surged through Hogwarts when he was that age, and he was forced to acknowledge that it was lack of opportunity as opposed to want that meant he hadn’t found himself in a similar situation.

But most of all, he knew what it was to be reviled – to be blamed, to be victimised, even to end up in the hospital wing – and he wasn’t about to turn the full fury of his house on either of them, not least when they were both already clearly suffering.

He put his head in his hands – what a complete and utter mess.  He wasn’t sure he was cut out for this housemaster malarkey after all.

* * *

He worked efficiently, slicing and dicing with precision.  Although he was less than impressed with the circumstances, he loved the challenge of brewing something new.  His fingers moved fluidly, carefully sliding the neatly chopped ingredients into the bubbling concoction and stirring carefully.  He bit his lip as he read down the remainder of the instructions, instinctively disregarding directives which made little sense – stirring forty times anti-clockwise after adding anything from the Mandrake family was overkill, and he almost snorted when he read that Wormwood oil should be left for ten minutes to settle.  This author clearly hadn’t read Professor Borkowsky’s treatise on the application of Artemisia absinthium.

After half an hour, he watched pensively as the mixture reached a rolling boil, but once the potion bloomed into a shade of deep silver, he grinned, pleased with his work.  He lowered the temperature to a simmer, and after a further fifteen minutes, he plunged the entire cauldron into an ice bath, and then quickly decanted the contents into several vials.

He made short work of clearing up, and with a glance at the clock, he retired to his quarters, Poppy’s book nestled under his arm.  It wasn’t one he’d had cause to view before – featuring a long list of potions and how pregnant women reacted to them, and an equally long list of alternative brewing techniques to mitigate a potion’s effect, or even alternative potions or combinations to trial instead.  For instance, he’d never had reason to mull on the effect of Skelegrow on pregnant women, but now that he was several chapters deep into the work, he found that its dangers were obvious and apparent; it was dunderheaded of him not to have thought about it sooner.

He cast against the wall of his office as he passed through, and the bricks shimmered, revealing an image of the Slytherin common room, its occupants unaware of their housemaster spying upon them.  The few students inside were sitting quietly, either studying or playing chess, and Severus didn’t pause to watch.  The majority of students were in Hogsmeade, and this was his first weekend in six months where he hadn’t been forced to supervise.

He couldn’t remember when he’d last had an afternoon to himself, so he poured a healthy slug of firewhisky into a clean glass and headed to his bedroom.  He carefully placed his drink on his sidetable, and happily flung himself across his unmade sheets, propping Poppy’s book on his pillow.

Severus hadn’t read a textbook for pleasure for several weeks; he’d been too busy working on his final submission for Potioneer’s Monthly, and cross-referencing the work of Monsieur Jacques Dubois – whose work had mostly been destroyed during the Parisian Dragon Invasion of 1462 – had been arduous.  When he’d finally finished, he’d rewarded himself by indulging in several terrible detective novels – one of the only Muggle pursuits he let seep into his life, not that he’d admit as much to anyone from the wizarding world.  Although he loved nothing more than curling up at night with a Muggle fiction book for company, he was careful to keep his collection of battered novels under his bed, not that any teacher or student would dare enter his quarters.

Consequently, this rare moment of peace was to be savoured.  He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, stretched out, and used his wand to flick to the page where he’d left off.  He sipped his drink, and with a long sigh, finally relaxed.

* * *

Five days later, Yordanka slowly made her way to the dungeons, her feet taking her on a circuitous route around the upper floors of Hogwarts, when she saw her housemaster striding towards her.

“Ah, Miss Nikolova,” Severus said, indicating that she should return from the stairs, and stand with him in the corridor.  “Feeling better?”

“I’m sorry I’ve missed classes, sir,” she started, but he shook his head.

“You have been quite unwell, I understand,” he said, kindly.  “I trust Madam Pomfrey has only released you from her care now that she is satisfied that you are at full health?”

“Yes, sir.”

He gave her an appraising look.  “There is no shame in being unwell, Miss Nikolova,” he said.  “If you were to relapse, for instance, neither myself, nor Madam Pomfrey would be upset.  On the contrary,” he said, his voice low, “I would be rather more disappointed to discover that one of my Slytherins had not received the best possible care.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he said.  “I must also reiterate that as your housemaster, my door is always open.  If you find that you feel uncomfortable discussing an issue with me, then I can refer you to Madam Pomfrey, or one of the other female teachers – Professor Sinistra, or Professor McGonagall, perhaps – if you found that more suitable.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And you’re heading back to the dungeons now, I assume?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Via the top corridor? The astronomy tower now masquerades as the Slytherin common room, perhaps?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“There is no need to dawdle. There is nothing for you to fear in our house.”  He gave a slight smile.  “We snakes are one, remember?  And if anyone forgets, you can send them to me and I shall remind them.”

At that, she finally smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, disappearing down the corridor as quickly as he’d appeared.  Yordanka headed down the stairs, her steps far lighter than they’d been moments earlier.

* * *

Minerva planted her hands on the back of his armchair.  “So, what were you reading in bed last night?”

Severus looked startled as he turned to face her, and a little guilty, a faint colour rising on his cheeks.  “Sorry?”

Minerva gave a triumphant smile.  “Now that’s an interesting reaction, Severus,” she laughed, leaning on the chair. “Poppy merely mentioned that you were hoarding an important book of hers that she wanted returning, but your reaction tells me that you weren’t snuggling up-”

“-I don’t snuggle,” he retorted hotly.

“-with a treasured tome of medical facts.”  She peered at the younger man intently.  “What _were_ you reading last night, Severus?”

“Nothing,” he answered, quickly.  Too quickly.

Her eyes narrowed. “What were you doing in bed last night?”

Rolanda chose that moment to wander past the pair, and upon hearing Minerva’s words, she immediately stopped.  “This sounds like a fun game.”

“It’s not, go away.”

Minerva laughed again. “We were just discussing how Severus has been sleeping with books again.”

“Books?  What sort of books?  Restricted Section books?”

“We were not discussing any such thing,” he said, glaring at Minerva, “and for your information, I was intending to return this,” he leant down the side of the chair and picked up the old book, “after I’d had a quiet cup of tea.”  He stood, clutching the book firmly in his hand, “I had quite forgotten what a bunch of harridans frequented this staffroom.”

“Now now,” Minerva grinned, “there’s no need for that, Severus.”

Before he could react, Rolanda had pulled the book from his hand and was flipping through it.  “Is this what you were reading in bed, Severus?” She looked slightly puzzled. “This is terribly boring, even for a fuddy-duddy like you.”  She shot Minerva a wicked grin.  “I wonder, is it illustrated?”  

“Rolanda, please stop – it’s just a book.”

“Is that what turns you on, Severus?  Dirty medical pictures?”  She laughed, but before he could grab the book, she tapped it with her wand, and opened it expectantly.  To his relief, no images appeared, but several sheets of aged parchment flew out from the pages.  Severus lunged for them and stuffed them into his robes.

“Minerva, did you see that!” Rolanda looked overly pleased with herself.  “I knew you were a sly one, Severus,” she said, elbowing him in the ribs and passing him his book back.  “Sweet dreams!”

“The staff in here get worse,” he hissed to Minerva as he strode from the staffroom.  “And you’re the ringleader!”

* * *

He stalked back to the dungeons, all thoughts of returning Poppy’s book lost.  It wasn’t that he minded being teased; he could ordinarily give as good as he got, but Rolanda had a way of unnerving him that none of the other teachers had mastered during his four years of teaching, not even Minerva.  It was probably her forthright nature, and how she always managed to bring the topic back to sex.  By now, he really should’ve stopped feeling awkward about their drunken one night stand last Christmas – she certainly didn’t seem at all fazed by it, and he knew neither of them had anything to feel ashamed about – but in the harsh light of day, he felt uneasily exposed that one of his work colleagues had seen him in such a state of intimacy.

Their encounter in the staffroom just highlighted why it had been a mistake to let someone in, even momentarily.  He slammed his office door, and then took great delight in doing the same to the door between his office and his private quarters, and then again when he reached his bedroom door.  He cast charms against it, like he’d so often done as a teenager when he was back in his dingy room in Cokeworth, and pulled his robes over his head.  He sank heavily onto his bed and concentrated in bringing down his Occlumency shields, desperate for some quiet from the multitude of thoughts swirling around his brain.

For once, it didn’t work – and he suddenly remembered the parchment he’d pushed into his pockets. He picked up his robes, and pulled the yellow pages out.  His heart skipped a beat when he saw the familiar, albeit faded, ink – his own spidery scrawl, and his mother’s script.  He remembered this letter like it was yesterday – the cauldron in the kitchen with its curious contents, the encounter with those vile Gryffindors, and Pettigrew smearing him with the cold ointment.  

Still, at least the little toad was dead.

He straightened the pages as best he could, and sank back into his memories.  His mother had died a few short weeks after this letter was sent, and although he’d asked Poppy if he could have it, she claimed she’d been unable to find it.  Still, its secret filing in this book about pregnant women seemed deliberate.  He shook his head; perhaps Poppy had found it in those dark days of him being a Death Eater, and had long forgotten its existence when he returned to the school.

His fingers traced his mother’s words, and he swallowed hard when he saw the crinkle of the sheet and the spill of ink where his own hot tears had splashed on that day.  

_I’m scared._

Severus stopped reading, and held his head in his hands.  He could feel the heat of panic rising in his chest, just as it had done all those years ago.  He’d been scared since – oh, how he’d been scared - being marked by the Dark Lord, begging at Dumbledore’s feet for mercy, and all the lying, and spying, and…  He ran his fingers through his greasy hair. But still, despite that, the idea that he could’ve been ruthlessly sexually attacked by Potter and his gang…well, it sent a chill down his spine even now; they had hardly been renowned for their mercy.  He forced himself to take a deep breath – he knew that three quarters of them weren’t in a position to hurt anyone anymore, and nobody seemed to know where that dratted werewolf had skulked off to.

_And next time, don’t be so bloody inquisitive._

_Sorry Mam._

_…it is funny, Severus, but for years, people have always told us how very like me you are._

He stared at the next line in horror.  He couldn’t remember anything past his hastily scrawled apology.  He knew he’d leapt up at that point, and stuffed the parchment in his pocket – not unlike his efforts in the staffroom earlier – and then he’d pressed the pages into Poppy’s hands whilst Avery, Black and Rosier had loitered in the hospital wing, none of them willing to leave – and not out of concern for their fellow housemate – until Poppy forcibly dismissed them.

Severus couldn’t tear his gaze away from the parchment.   _He’d asked._  He’d _asked_ if there was anything else, and Poppy had lied to him.  And now, nine years later, he was seeing his mother’s words – written expressly for him - for the very first time.  It was like she’d risen from the dead.

_…it is funny, Severus, but for years, people have always told us how very like me you are.  When you were tiny, they would stop us in the street and comment on how you were me in miniature.  “Apart from his nose,” they would laugh, “that’s all Toby!”_

_But as you grow, Severus, I realise that you are not my son at all.  You pride yourself on being a wizard, but the boy I see is his Muggle father’s son.  I know you are reading this, and you are shaking your head, but it is the truth._

_Your father often says he is sorry.  You and I have heard it with such regularity, I admit to being somewhat amazed, and mostly relieved, that your first word was ‘mama’.  I long feared it would be ‘sorry’.  I have lived with your father for nearly two decades, and I know that to him, sorry is just a word._

_I had higher hopes for you._

_So do not tell me that you are sorry.  Sorry without an action behind it is meaningless.  I thought you understood that already.  The only sorry that you feel is sorrow for yourself. You are sorry that those boys stole my potion and used it against you.  You are sorry that you need to beg for assistance from your professors._

_But are you actually sorry?  Are you sorry for ignoring me?  Are you sorry for stealing – and no matter how you dress it up, it was stealing, Severus!  Or are you simply sorry that you got caught?  Because we both know that is not sorry at all._

_The week before you helped yourself to my potion, he beat you. I cannot remember your supposed transgression on that occasion – I am not even convinced that you will remember the specific incident, given your father’s penchant for flailing his fists and his belt around our tiny house.  These days, I am not even convinced that you listen to his monotonous lecturing whilst he punishes you.  After all, when the punishment for leaving the milk bottle on the worktop is as severe as the punishment for setting fire to next door’s cat, is there any point in listening?_

_(I did mean to enquire as to why you set fire to next door’s cat. Mrs Jones was furious for weeks about Tibby’s singed fur.  Apparently she’s never been the same since.  Tibby, that is, not Mrs Jones.  I thought you liked Tibby?  I seem to remember you feeding her your father’s best tuna dinner one night?  Or is that why you set fire to her?  Revenge for you being beaten for feeding the cat? I really should have asked at the time, but frankly, it is one thing after another with you, son.)_

_But on this occasion, I do remember him leaving, and eventually you picked yourself up off the floor.  I remember you swiping at the congealed blood on your face and asking, “Does he hate me because I’m magical?”_

_I did not answer.  I probably should have.  You see, Severus, your father does not hate you because you are magical.  Your father hates you because he looks at you and he sees himself.  He beats you because he cannot beat himself.  When you make the same mistakes that he does, you are holding a mirror up to his face, and he cannot ignore it.  He punishes you for his own transgressions.  It is unfortunate for you that his sins are many._

_It is no secret between you and me, son, that I have hated your father for a long time.  As you grew, I did not fear my boy becoming the sort of man his father was, because I knew he would escape this Muggle filth we have surrounded ourselves in.  I knew he would find a place at Hogwarts and he would flourish.  He certainly had the brains, and the aptitude, and a cheeky spark that refused to be dampened, no matter how his father wronged him._

_But the sulky youth who came home last summer is not that boy. You are a sneak, and a liar, and a common thief.  You no longer speak to that Muggle girl you were so fond of, and do not think that I am ignorant of the meaning of those blood purity symbols and slogans that are scrawled across the backs of your textbooks._

_I sometimes find myself wondering if something has happened.  You talked incessantly about Hogwarts before you got there, but now you merely sneer if I raise the topic.  You read Hogwarts:  A History so many times before you got to school, you could recite it word for word, yet this last holiday, you threw your bag into the wardrobe, and did not open it all summer.  I checked._

_And it is not just the cat, is it, Severus?  Because Mr Grantham had a mangy dog.  He got it last year whilst you were at school, and the feral thing would wait until the depth of the night, and then, its paws on the fence, its snout illuminated by the moon, it would toss its head back and howl. For hours.  Your father complained about it for months._

_The first night you were back, you washed your bedding.  You told me it was a boy thing, and you were sorry. (There is that word again.)  The second night, I found you pacing the back yard, your wand out in front of you.  You were scared.  You wet the bed the first night.  The second night, you were ready to fight.  And by the third night?  The dog was mysteriously dead._

_When you were small, you rarely argued back when you were beaten. Now, I am as used to hearing your threats as I am your father’s diatribes, and although he laughs it off, we all know that you speak the truth.  One day you will be bigger, or taller, or stronger, and one day, you will kill him.  I realise that.  Perhaps he does not.  Perhaps he thinks you do not have the stomach for it._

_But I have seen that spell of yours.  It is a clever piece of wand work.  At first, I was surprised that Defence Against the Dark Arts taught such spells these days, but then I realised – my clever son, the boy who created those funny little jinxes and hexes _–_ well, he has grown up.  Come of age.   And he is no longer playing.  _

_A knife, Severus?  It is a very Muggle way to fight._

_I realise that your father has not set the best example for Muggles, but now I have to watch as my child spouts the very idiocy that led me to flee from the wizarding world.  My boy, the boy I walked with down Diagon Alley, the boy I gave my wand to – that boy was not an idiot._

_Your father’s boy, however, is an idiot.  And Severus, I no longer look at you and see myself.  I see him.  Your Muggle father.  I think you need to ask yourself, is that who you want to be?  Because in all of your desperation to be his opposite, you are proving yourself to be more like him than any of us ever thought possible._

* * *

When she realised what had happened, she went to the dungeons, Albus in tow.  As Headmaster, Albus was the only person able to forcibly break Severus’ charms – and seeing Poppy’s panic, he did so.  He apologised profusely to Severus for the intrusion, and then departed, leaving just the Mediwitch and the young Potions Master in his bedroom.

He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed.  “She was right.”

Poppy gently sat next to him, and eased the parchment from his trembling hands.

“I was a disappointment to her.  To him,” he spat, “I always knew I was a disappointment to him.  But not to her.”

“I do not think your mother would be disappointed with the man her son grew to be.”

“I killed that animal. I joined a pureblood cult,” he said, ticking his points off on his fingers.  “I finally beat my father, and used that awful spell to do so.  I lost my Muggle friend.  …she wasn’t wrong.”

“You left a pureblood cult,” she said, firmly.  “I do not know the circumstances surrounding your friend, but I would hope that she could see that you have changed.  And we both know why you killed that dog.”

He shook his head, unable to speak.  

“Severus.  This was a long time ago.  You are a different man today than you were back then.”

“She died without knowing that,” he whispered.  “She died, and this is the last thing she ever said to me.”

And try as she might, Poppy didn’t have an answer for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the severus gets some good will fic you wrote for me, what was the last thing eileen wrote that pomfrey saw?

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was: can i request a fic? ‘severus doesn’t know what he did but for a week now, every bad thing that used to happen to him is happening to other people instead’


End file.
